


Interruption

by X_Kartoffel_X



Series: Sharp Suits & City Lights [7]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: (I love when canon gives me angst-ammunition to work with, Gen, M/M, Minor Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Rude (Compilation of FFVII)-centric, Rude is having a TIME, Slow Build, Slow Burn, and it's all downhill from here kiddo, and this time it's suddenly EVEN MORE complicated, the world's longest and most frustrating slow-burn continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Kartoffel_X/pseuds/X_Kartoffel_X
Summary: “Yo, Partner,  you’re back late,” Leaning his arms atop the couch-cushions in a now-familiar sight, Reno props his chin against his forearms. He isn’t wrong to point it out - Rude will always be the first to admit that he is usually such a stickler for schedules. “You run into some trouble?”He swallows back against a sudden and unpleasant lump in his throat, as the truth bubbles somewhere in his gut.A sudden weight.He can’t say it.“Promised I wouldn’t have too much fun without you, didn’t I?” Hanging his jacket up, straight and neat on a hanger in the entryway closet, Rude straightens his tie and removes his gloves. When he glances over, he can see Reno watching his movements - that typically sly smile, ever-present on his features.“That’s what I like to hear.”
Relationships: Chelsea/Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Reno & Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Series: Sharp Suits & City Lights [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1023375
Comments: 17
Kudos: 46





	Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> This one was, for some reason, almost impossible for me to write in a way I was happy with... but I suppose that's the nature of set-up chapters/instalments?
> 
> Before Crisis is one of my favourite parts of VII canon - but I will admit I'm embellishing around the established canon a little bit here and there! (For the ~drama~ darlings... also bc I fully doubt that someone as guarded as Rude would get so attached to anyone in just one month?? Which the canon seems to suggest...?? It's not totally clear, but I'm fiddling with that timespan and extending it just a little) 
> 
> But uh.... anyway. Enjoy??

“I hate it, yo.”

Rude pulls his head out from under the spray of the shower, frowning. “You hate what?”

“Having to supervise Rod’s stupid patrols and keep him up to standard. Not my fault he’s still a total rookie.” A thud, a sigh, and Rude hears a bottle being cracked open. The water falling into his eyes makes him squint, as he stares at the bathroom door through the haze of condensation in the air.

“Didn’t you cover his initial training?” An awkward silence follows, and Rude takes the opportunity to apply shower-gel and exfoliate his scalp. One of those annoying, seasonal routine changes he had to account for in the fall and winter months. He hears the back of Reno’s head thud against the wall beside the bathroom door in defeat.

“Tseng should’a gotten you to do it, yo. Would have gone way better... I don’t _train_ people, Rude.”

“You just beat ‘em senseless.” Rude lets the spray wash over him, turning the temperature down a little when the steam begins to fill the room too much. His shoulders feel tight, again; something that has been building up for a few months now. Aching - a dull, background sensation - throughout each of his movements. He shrugs - cracks his neck from side to side.

“Right?!” He can picture Reno’s expression - indignant, as he brandishes his beer. Rude turns off the shower and grabs for a towel. “And it ain’t like I offered to do it, or like I’m not busy.”

Rude snorts, wrapping the towel around his waist. Grabs and twists the doorknob, cold under his hand - still warm from the shower, and opens the door to peer down at Reno with a raised brow. Reno, who is sat, legs splayed out across the hallway, bare feet touching the opposing wall - slouched with his back pressed up beside the bathroom door. A beer half-way to his lips, and a sour expression on his features. “Says the guy who’s got so little to do, he’s literally listening to me shower?”

A grin. Wry, and slightly lopsided. “Playin’ lifeguard, what if you fell over and I had to give you mouth-to-mouth?”

Rude kicks him.

By the time he is dressed, in a freshly pressed pair of his uniform slacks, a pristine white shirt, and his tie, he moves into the living room and finds Reno has moved to the couch. There is a bottle of water sat on a coaster (figures Reno would think about it - the fact that Rude had patrols all evening, and wouldn’t be drinking today), waiting for him, and he hums in thanks as he takes a swig- sliding a coaster over towards Reno, too, for his beer. The look of offence that greets him is vastly exaggerated.

“My beer isn’t even on the table right now!”

“When it is, you’ll have a coaster.”

“ _Shiva_ , you know, one little stain or scratch won’t kill you.”

“But if you damage my table, I’ll kill _you_.” Reno snorts a laugh again at that, takes a swig from his bottle, and immediately deposits it onto the coaster Rude had pushed his way. The exchange is a bit of a pantomime of sorts, now; one they have quite frequently. There is still a small chip in the glass surface of the coffee table, from a phone carelessly tossed towards it so long ago now- and Rude has so far managed to keep that as the only permanent blemish.

He doesn’t mind that one, anyway.

“There’s stuff in the news about the most recent AVALANCHE attacks on our Mako shipments… what a load of bull. Why do we keep tryin’ to link this to Wutai? They’re just… different people from _everywhere_ who hate what we’re doing.” A gesture towards the television screen, indignant and frustrated. Words that neither of them would ever say in front of anyone else. Words that might get them into trouble, if uttered in front of the wrong ears.

“Public opinion. More likely they’ll support us instead of _them,_ ” Rude nods towards the screen, showing the damage from the recent attacks on a shaky camera feed. A burning shipment truck; the bloodied face of the driver as he is tended to by ShinRa Security medical officers. ‘Saviours of the people’, indeed. “If they think it’s linked to a group of people they already hate.”

Reno frowns. 

Rude rubs at the tension in the back of his own neck, again.

“People are dumb.”

“ShinRa counts on that fact.”

“I guess we’re the ones who agreed to work for them, so what does that say about us, huh?” A little snort, derisive, leaves Reno’s nose as he swigs the remnants from the bottom of the beer bottle in his grasp, before depositing it back on the table (Rude’s eyebrow twitches as the glass chimes against the spot _directly beside_ the coaster he put out). “But the pay’s good, so I guess I can overlook a little corruption.”

“Or a lot.” Rude adds, reaching over and moving the bottle onto the coaster in the most passive-aggressive manner he can muster. Reno, settling back into a comfortable slouch against the couch-cushions, does not seem to notice… _typical_. 

“You saying we’re bad people, Partner?” Heavily lidded eyes, tinted with the slightest, now fading hint of green over the natural blue beneath, watch him with unmasked amusement.

“I’m saying we’re people.” He puts it simply, because it’s easier. It’s easier to pretend the world exists like this; in shades of grey, where good and bad are just down to whose shoes you’re standing in. “We’re just doing what we’re paid to do.”

“Man, you just slammed yourself right into moral ambiguity huh?” Reno lifts his feet onto the couch and presses his them against the outside of Rude’s thigh. Rude taps his foot, lightly, to loosen his muscles. He’s much more used to this now - this physical closeness that Reno seems to insist upon, but still occasionally needs a breath to adjust… and never for the reasons he had always expected. The reasons now are very different. Unspoken, always, between them. Another part of their daily lives; something to tiptoe around, endlessly. “Just say you don’t give a shit what the company does, as long as you get your money at the end of every month, yo.”

“You’re the same, right?” There are limits, he thinks; certain things that he would say no to, if expected to do… though that distinction becomes less clear with each passing year. There are, he knows, things now that he will do without flinching, which he certainly never would have done when he had first been hired by ShinRa. But when it came to Reno-

So far, he had not once witnessed so much as a hint of a limit; a final straw. Reno just didn’t seem to care; work was work. Money was money. What he did to get it didn’t seem to matter at all. He glances across at Rude now, and shrugs - calm and collected. “If the gil’s good, I won’t say no… unless they ask me to do somethin’ real bad…” A shrug. “I guess I’ll do pretty much anything.” 

His feet still in their motions on Rude’s thigh, as he stares at them contemplatively; a little furrow forming between his brows. Rude can feel the pads of his toes through the fabric of his trousers; a firm pressure, pushing down. 

“Like _murder Rod_ if he gets annoying on today’s job.”

Rude laughs at that; decides it’s not worth pressing Reno for what he is really thinking about, and lets himself grin a little. “Not worth it. The paperwork _alone_ would be a nightmare.”

“Easy for you to say, you get the nice ‘n easy solo patrol today.” Sinking further into the couch cushions (and it takes all of Rude’s self-control not to comment about how Reno has ruined one of his couches already, so could he _please not_ destroy the replacement), Reno shoves his feet fully across Rude’s lap, and grimaces. “You sure you can’t just tag along with me ‘n the rookie, Partner?”

“Don’t think Tseng would appreciate me skipping this one.” He has to check in on the Ancient today, after all; and if there was one thing Tseng was very firm about - it was making sure that the Ancient was kept safe, and happy. Tseng usually handled the matter himself, but with Veld’s ever-increasing absence, the demands placed upon their Assistant Director were mounting higher and higher, and he was beginning to move some of his ground-level duties onto his subordinates in order to cope… 

Which also explained why Reno had been tasked with supervising Rod’s continued training.

“Oh, yeah… forgot you were on babysitting duty.” Reno lets his head fall back against the arm of the couch, a petulant expression stark on his features. Rude glances at the column of his throat - idly watching his Adam’s-apple bob as he speaks. “You’re not gonna bring back another flower this time, are you? Tryin’ to explain that to the rookies was _hard,_ yo.”

“Should’ve just said you didn’t know where I got it.”

“It was way more fun coming up with the whole secret-affair between you ‘n some executive from the legal department.” Reno glances at Rude, not bothering to lift his head. Office gossip was, as Rude had learned over the years, one of his favourite pastimes. 

“Whenever I’m in the elevator with a rookie and it stops on Legal, they look at me like they know some big secret. It’s weird.” 

“Still? Man, the office sure likes to hold onto rumours, huh?” Rude gives one of Reno’s ankles a tug (knowing that, typically, he was still likely fuelling that rumour, somehow), and his other foot delivers a playful kick to Rude’s leg in retaliation. “Guess you need to get going.”

“Yeah…” He checks his watch. An hour to get down to Sector 5 on the train. “Finish around eleven. You start at six tomorrow morning, right?”

“Yeah. Mind if I crash here, Partner?”

Rude shrugs, and hums quietly in response, as he lifts Reno’s legs off himself and stands; heading towards his coat closet to collect his jacket. It has become normal practice for Reno to crash over, on any given evening - whether Rude is there or not, doesn’t seem to make much difference to the matter. He had already put a blanket over the back of the couch in case Reno needed it, and he can usually open the front door without waking Reno up… if he is careful enough. “Just don't drink all my beers.”

“I’ll try.” Reno grins, and plucks Rude’s shades off the coffee-table, chucking them over with one fluid curl of his arm. “An’ you try not to have too much fun without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Reno grins and waves Rude away. 

* * *

The patrol starts off strong; looking to be an easy evening’s work. Rude reaches the Sector 5 slums with little issue, and makes it to the Church there without being harangued by the usual monsters that lurk amongst these winding streets. Whilst he does enjoy the thrill of a good fight, he is glad of the quiet, today; the tension in his back remains, heavy on his shoulders, and his mind is… largely elsewhere. The locals, out and about their early-evening business, eye him with the same quiet caution as always. If the line of his shoulders - uncomfortably - moves a little closer to his ears, as he begins to feel as though he takes up too much space - stands out too much… well, no one else is there to see it.

The door - a solid, heavy old thing that creaks loudly, destroying any chance of subtlety - is bathed in the dim, fading orange light of the setting sun, which filters in through the gap as Rude pushes his way inside. Yellow and white flowers are washed briefly in the colour, before the door thuds shut - with a loud echoing crack - behind him.

The room is still; no gentle humming, as a young girl tends to her flowers. No patter of feet, as she rushes to see who has come to her sanctuary; her private space.

No brief tantrum, about how she is too old for ‘babysitters’ before she sighs; gives up, and smiles at Rude. Asks if he will walk her home, today. _‘You can tell me how your day’s been_ ’, she always says, knowing he won’t; cannot, with the nature of his work. Knowing he will shrug, and mumble something vague. Let her tell him all about her day, instead, as she passes him her flower basket to carry, and tells him it is the least he can do, all things considered.

They aren’t really supposed to engage with her, but she is young and curious, and always seems to want the company; so Rude doesn’t figure it is too inappropriate to treat her with kindness or indulge her a little. As long as he doesn’t get attached. He can already see Tseng slipping down that slope.

_All of them, sooner or later, develop a crack in their armour, Veld had always said._

None of them comments on the fact that there is always a fresh flower, somewhere on Tseng's desk; it is hardly their place. Rude admits that he quite likes the flowers she sometimes gives to him, too; a small acceptance of any soft-spot he might have developed himself. Though he has made a point of not bringing them into the office anymore, since the last gossip-fueling incident. Usually stows them somewhere, unseen, until he can get them home… Sends them to his mother, when he can, who thanks him each and every time. Presses them, and adds them to a framed collection she has been making, since her treatments began. She sends him photographs, occasionally; tells him the names of flowers she has found, and where she found them, during her walks on the beach.

In contrast, Reno always dumps the flowers he receives in the trash, the moment he gets back from _‘babysitting duty’_ (though Rude, silently, observes that he seems to receive far fewer than Rude himself, or Tseng, do - and considers that he may be a little softer than he lets on), and complains loudly about how he doesn’t look like ‘a flowers kinda guy’. 

Those familiar yellow and white flowers bloom between the cracked floorboards before him, as he makes his approach, yet Rude doesn’t once think to take one for himself. Knows that Aerith would be annoyed with him if he did. Would puff her cheeks out in childish petulance, and demand gil in exchange for what he took.

He figures she will make a cutthroat businesswoman, one day.

“Guess she’s busy.” He says it to no one in particular, after a more thorough survey of the building - knows that he is alone - but still takes up a seat in one of the few remaining pews. It groans a little under his weight, the sound louder than it ought to be in the otherwise silent hall, and just… breathes. Lets his shoulders slump for a moment.

The ceiling here is high, _high_ above him, and something about the way the light refracts through stain-glass windows is soothing. The smell of flowers hits his senses, and he lets himself take a moment to think and unwind - rare moments, in his line of work.

His mother is getting worse, by the week; the last time she had called, her breaths had been quick, and shallow, and every few words she had been stopping to catch it. _A few months more_ , she had said, though he had not asked her for the prognosis - couldn’t bring himself to - she knew he wanted to know, even so. She keeps asking him if he wants to go over her affairs, to make sure everything is in order and suits him when the inevitable happens - he says no, every time; usually excuses himself from the conversation with work duties, or some random errand he can come up with on the spot. 

He doesn’t much want to think about it.

So he simply... doesn't. He hasn’t even told _Reno_ how bad things are, in that regard. Doesn’t attempt to hide his moods (as if he could, around his Partner, who seems almost psychic in his ability to read Rude’s posture, and the set of his jaw, these days), but doesn’t bring up the thoughts weighing him down, either. Voicing them makes them too real, after all; and as it stands, there are other things that they can focus on instead.

As such, he _does_ voice his concerns over Veld’s increasing absence from his duties; something else to blame for the knots in his shoulders. Something both he and Reno can discuss, without Rude having to think about what is truly on his mind... lately, team meetings have been helmed by Tseng, and the increasing threat from both Wutai and AVALANCHE is beginning to create cracks in ShinRa’s armour. The sudden scarcity of their Director had not gone unnoticed amongst the Turks - especially not those of them who had been in their roles for any decent length of time - and he, Reno, and the others had discussed their concerns in hushed tones here and there. It is a simpler topic to breach, though even Rude knows, that on top of his other concerns at present, it is probably weighing on him more than it ought to.

As long as he still has a job to do, he shouldn’t be concerning himself with who it comes from.

Reno, a sucker - and a menace - for gossip, always has some wild theory to offer as to _why_ their Director is absent - something he had overheard here or there (his favourites alternate between ‘raising a secret family’, and ‘old age is making him forget where the office is’, though Rude thinks he perhaps had made the latter up himself, to make the nervous new recruits crack a smile, despite the concerning situation). No matter how he jokes, Rude can tell he is worried; the ends of the pens sat on his desk have been chewed into oblivion, and he has been increasingly more restless on patrols, and missions.

He had even almost picked a fight with one of the SOLDIER candidates they had been assigned to locate, a few weeks back.

If Rude hadn’t been there to block the punch aimed square at Reno’s jaw-

Well, Reno certainly wouldn’t have been laughing about it afterwards.

They are _all_ a little more on edge than usual; but he supposes, the one upside to all of this, is that they have both been too distracted to dwell on that strange conversation of months ago. Reno’s quiet, unprompted admission, in the twilight hours, as the two of them sat together in the employee bar.

_‘I broke things off with that chick I was seein’’_

Sighing, Rude lets his head fall back a little, to look at the ceiling above - high and vaulted. He can see pigeons and doves roosting there.

Another weight on his shoulders, to join the others.

They feel all-too heavy, recently.

It hasn’t come up again since; Rude had thought it might, after Reno’s drunken episode in WallMarket, and the Sector 6 slums, but he had slept soundly against Rude’s shoulder until they had reached the upper plate, and wordlessly allowed Rude to carry him back to his apartment, depositing him on the couch. Asleep again within minutes, and not a word uttered upon the subject when he had awoken the following morning. The only difference or change in his behaviour, that Rude had really noted, was that he seemed more willing to share messages from home with Rude - photos or random updates, grumbling all the while about how his mother should stop sending them so often when she knows he won’t respond - and that he hadn’t, to Rude’s knowledge, been seeing anyone for the past few months. Not even casually, as he sometimes did between the handful of relationships Rude had known to last a couple of months, or so.

Nothing further had been said; no strange, awkward moments left hanging between them - waiting for a response that he wasn’t sure how to offer.

He wonders how long he should stare at a closed window, wondering if it might open again.

Knows it will be the same outcome, every time.

_Neither of them are willing to be the one who risks getting burned._

A buzz from his phone; Rude pulls it free of his pocket without a thought, checking the screen.

Tseng.

“Sir.”

“Status report?” His tone is clipped. Fatigue showing through his usually impenetrably professional exterior.

“The Ancient isn’t here. Should I go to the house?” The offer feels necessary - to keep the unnecessary weight from Tseng’s mind. He hears a soft sigh in response.

“No, that’s fine. I… need some air, so I’ll go myself. You can resume patrol duty on the Upper-Plate.”

Rude grunts out another ‘Sir’, as an affirmation, already standing from the pew; shrugging off those unwanted intrusive thoughts. Upper-Plate patrols, at this time of evening - as the sun was setting, and the nightlife began to take hold, were always blessedly eventful; distracting enough to keep his mind focussed on things besides the tumultuous thoughts that weighed him down, lately.

“And, Rude.” Tseng doesn’t bother to mask the tiredness, again, and that alone is enough to give Rude pause. “Things have been… increasingly tense, recently, and whilst you’re working solo, you’re an easier target.” 

He thinks of Sal. Of the outcomes of letting his guard down.

“Please exercise caution.”

“I always do, Sir.”

A laugh; the lightest of chuckles, crackling down the line. “Were I talking to you _before_ your current Partnership, I might just believe that, but as it stands… _be careful_. That’s an order.”

* * *

It happens when he is patrolling Sector 3, above plate; not his usual jurisdiction, SOLDIER typically handled things here… but their numbers were low, following altercations in Wutai, and an unfortunately timed mass-desertion, and naturally, the Turks were expected to pick up the slack. He hasn’t complained about it, necessarily… but he has made a point of looming behind the occasional SOLDIER recruits in the elevators when he hears them complaining about being overworked.

He and Reno haven’t had a day off in quite some time; working odd shifts and nighttime patrols with more frequency than ever before.

_It’s how mistakes happen,_ he reminds himself. Mind dwelling on lapses in judgement that had led to worst possible outcomes.

He cannot forget what had happened to Sal.

Solo patrols always bring those memories back; knowing that Sal had been alone, so close to headquarters when it had happened. They had never discovered who had done it; AVALANCHE activity in those weeks had been eerily quiet, and Rude sometimes wonders if perhaps they had been building up to an event such as that - something quick, a low blow, below the belt. 

It probably bodes well, then, that AVALANCHE are so active, currently.

But it is hard to believe that when you know you have no backup.

“Help! Please, anybody!”

The sudden, unmistakable sound of a scuffle breaking out nearby, as Rude moves to turn down the next main street; probably just drunkards. Some domestic squabble he should pay no mind to (ShinRa Public Security work, no doubt) but-

“Hey! Stop struggling!”

There are only ten minutes left on his patrol now, and he should be heading back toward the station-

“No, leave me alone! I don’t have- help!”

Reno had always told him he was a sucker for chivalry - always willing to hold doors open or offer his seat on the train to any woman who needed it - but to Rude, it had always just been good manners; how he was raised. To ignore the panicked, frightened shrieking coming from further down the street- it would go against every fibre of his being.

The yelling reminds him of this youth; the panic, the crying.

“Please, leave me alone!!”

The air almost tastes like the humid warmth of Mideel, instead of the cold, static air of Midgar.

His shoulders feel taught - pulled tight like elastic.

“Help me!”

It feels like instinct.

He takes off at a run, suddenly; ignores his regular route, in favour of rushing towards the source of the sound. He can mention this in his report, later, when Tseng inevitably checks his ShinRa ID and notices that it logged on the ID checkpoint later than usual, and asks him what happened. Can explain it to Reno, when he gets home (and inevitably gets a mocking earful, about being ‘a softie’, again). He will accept that - live with it, as long as he knows that he tried to help someone who needed it when he could.

_He couldn’t help, back then, but now-_

He can't ignore it.

Rounding the corner, Rude sees what is happening, and assesses the situation in seconds; a woman on the ground - long hair dishevelled, purse and its contents scattered across the cobbled street - three assailants, not drunkards (their movements, and expressions, are too aware for that). Would-be thieves, maybe. Or worse. It doesn’t matter. He sees her on the ground - her green dress torn at the bottom, panic in her eyes, and springs into action without a second thought.

By the time they register that he is there, he has his fist pushing up into the jaw of the closest - shorter than the others. A low uppercut, that knocks him down in an instant; sends him flying backwards, blood spurting from the gap separating his teeth, where it’s likely that he caught his tongue between them. He hits the ground, hard; backside thudding down and the back of his head almost colliding with solid stone. Cowers immediately, out of Rude’s reach; not a committed criminal, by any means-

“Watch out-!”

The second; taller, jumps at him in an attempt at a grab around his waist - perhaps to throw him off balance. Rude plants his feet firm, and lets it happen - then leans forward, grabs _him_ by the waist, in turn, and flings him upwards, over, and onto his back. Slams him down so hard that he is winded in an instant. Again, he fails to come at Rude for a second attempt, as Rude straightens up - instead favours scrambling to his feet and latching onto the wall to their left for support - teeth gritted tight, eyes on Rude but making no move towards him. Not even bothering to grab at any of the items that had fallen from their victims’ purse in the scuffle, though Rude can see her phone laying on the ground right by where his hands had scrabbled, as he had struggled to his feet.

Strange. Probably opportunist thieves who prayed on the drunk and unsuspecting, wandering the upper-plate bars, unused to anyone fighting back. 

“You _bastard!_ ”

One to go.

She comes at him; slighter than the other two, but tall with it, and strong in her movements. Rude watches a flash of blonde hair whip to his right - sees the flash of a steel blade. A pocket knife, probably - not something designed for combat; small and awkwardly shaped for the kind of assault she is attempting.

He grabs at her arm during her first swipe; catches it, instantly (he spars with Reno, at least twice a week, and whilst he isn’t as fast, he is _used_ to that devilish speed, and in comparison, this woman’s movements are almost _sluggish)_. Uses her momentum to spin her around, and send her careening into her comrade against the wall - the pair of them losing their footing, and clattering into a bundle of garbage cans, which topple under the weight. The pair of them hit the ground in a muddled tangle of limbs, as their shorter comrade - clutching his bruised jaw, yelps in shock. Reaches for something down the back of his belt-

Rude turns to him - fixes him with a stare, as materia begins to crackle in the fist he slowly raises.

“F-fuck this, I’m outta here!” Is the only warning, before the guy bolts; feet slipping on the cobbled walkway as he goes. 

Rude turns to the other two; fists up, and ready to go - blinking to find them already retreating - their backs retreating into the grey din of the city streets.

It hardly seems right-

“Oh, hell… my dress…” 

His gaze shifts; drawn back to the woman on the ground - reaching out stiffly, uneasily, to gather her things, scattered about the ground around her. Her hair - long, and a soft, warm light brown - touches the stone beneath her as she reaches for her phone - stuffing it into her scuffed purse, along with some smaller personal items. A mirror, a lipstick. Some gil. 

Rude frowns, wondering why none of it had been taken…why the assailants hadn’t at least grabbed her phone before retreating, to make it out of the scuffle with _something_ to show, but then… 

“Ow…”

A softie, indeed.

“You okay?” He hangs back a little as he speaks - aware that crowding her might only make her more uncomfortable; knows that his large frame can be intimidating, even when he doesn’t mean it to be. And after that display-

It seems safer to hang back.

“Yes, I’m fine… people like that just pick fights wherever they can, I guess?” She laughs, even as she remains on the ground where they had knocked her down; one of her legs, he can see from here, is grazed all the way from the knee down to her ankle, where momentum must have sent her skidding across the ground as she had fallen, and despite her insistence, he can see her ribs trembling with each breath she takes. “And this dress was _expensive._ Can’t a girl make an effort to look nice for an evening, without running into thugs around here?”

She looks up at Rude and smiles; the glow of it, bright and lively, reaching her eyes.

He feels his entire face flush with warmth, as she does - not expecting it. The depth in those eyes-

“Does this… happen a lot?” She doesn’t seem surprised; shaken, sure. But almost… resigned. Were it not for the trembling of the hands, grasping now at her retrieved purse, and the grazes across her skin… he wouldn’t even know that anything untoward had happened.

“Around here? Yes, unfortunately… I usually manage to avoid the worst of them, but lately, I swear, they’re more persistent than ever.” She sighs; tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, as she shakes her head. “Nothing broken, nothing taken. I can’t ask for much more, can I? Not when my very own knight in shining armour showed up to save the day.”

A smile that he has to look away from; clearing his throat as if it might cover his unease.

He can at least make a note when he files his report. Recommend further patrols in this area. A deterrent, at the least…

She laughs, suddenly; snapping him out of his thoughts.

“You’re not going to offer me a hand? You’ve been so chivalrous up until now - might want to keep that streak going!”

“Oh… sure. Here-” Unsure of what else to do, and feeling at a loss for words, he reaches down; taking her slim, manicured hand into his own, and helping her to her feet. Her frame is light - lighter than he expects - and she stumbles up and into his chest with the force of his pull - splaying elegant fingers against the front of his jacket, as her nose bumps against his collarbone.

“Ooops! _Sorry_ \- you’re strong, huh? I should have found my feet quicker... uh…” She pushes back from his chest (but keeps her hands there, he notices - and his face feels even warmer than before, for it), and looks up at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?”

“Rude.”

“I mean, I’m trying to ask…”

“N-no, my name. Rude.”

“Oh!” A laugh - tuneful and light - floating into the air between them. “Well, Rude, how about I buy you a drink, to say thank you? There’s a really nice bar not far from here, and honestly, after what just happened, I could use a drink myself. And I… I think I’d feel a lot safer if you were with me.”

“I…” He isn’t on duty anymore, technically. It isn’t as if he _can’t_ go with her, but-

Her eyes - a warm hazel tone - watch him with unmasked hope, and Rude finds himself speaking against his own better judgement. “I’ll buy it. You’ve had a rough day… uh…?”

“Chelsea.” She smiles; it brightens her whole face, and he thinks he feels his step become lighter, as she grabs his arm and begins pulling him down the street. Forthright and confident in her actions, in a way that he himself has never been, and it slowly dawns on him that maybe he has a _type,_ much as he has tried to argue with the others (during those slow, gossip-filled hours on stakeouts, or days filled with nothing but paperwork and stuttering overhead fans) that he did not. “I won’t say no, today, but this just means I owe you a drink some other time.”

He doesn’t say no, but then - he is hardly expecting her to feel the same way, later on.

Only-

_Some part of him wants to see more of that smile._

She gifts it to him, bright and lively, over drinks as she asks him about himself. Little things, inconsequential; things he doesn’t mind answering - that allow the conversation to keep flowing, even considering his own awkwardness. His shyness. ‘Where are you from?’ ( _‘Junon’,_ he says, without pause. No mention of Mideel for all the unwanted memories it brings up, or the unwanted questions it might invite), ‘What’s your favourite place on the plate?’ (a vague mumble about some fountain-filled park he knows is in Sector 4), and, unexpectedly; ‘If you had to pick one food - only one - that you were allowed to eat for the rest of your life, and nothing else, what would it be?’ 

She laughs herself silly when he puts genuine thought into the response - stumbling over various options. Unable to decide. Tells him she would have said ‘ice cream sundae’, because the flavours varied so much that she could never get bored - she would just change the scoops every time a flavour started to seem bland, and rotate them like that, forever.

It isn’t what he expected; the woman in front of him appears a picture of grace and poise, wearing a simple but elegant dress, hair long, flowing - curled inwards towards the ends in a stylish wave. Had it not been for the scuffs on her legs, and the scrapes on her forearms from the fall, he would have been unable to find a single hair out of place-

Chelsea smiles into her drink, giggling as if she has caught him in his observation. “It’s a little silly, for a girl my age, I know…”

“Wouldn’t living on ice-cream alone make you feel sick?” He asks, more sincerely than he probably should.

“Maybe, but at least I wouldn’t get bored.” She laughs and twirls the cocktail stick around her drink with one elegantly manicured hand. Her nails are a carefully painted, pristine pink, though Rude notes that her fingers themselves look a little rough - as though she had worked heavily with them. “So, Rude, what sort of work do you do?”

He takes a sip of the beer he had ordered, and thinks for a moment on the best way to phrase it. If she hadn’t already guessed at the nature of his work - from the fight, more than anything - then… part of him almost doesn’t want to say. It had never exactly been a conversation starter; more a quick way to kill one completely.

“Can I guess?” She leans against the bar after he takes a moment too long to respond, chin in her hand; when his gaze meets hers, the expression there is so playful and warm that he has to look away immediately. Feels a telltale warmth spreading up the back of his neck, and to the tips of his ears.

He clears his throat, just in case his voice betrays him “Go ahead.”

“Hmmm…” She leans forward, and peers at him, a teasing, investigative expression. He turns his head to take another sip of beer, pretending not to be uncomfortably warm under the scrutiny. “You definitely have an air of…” She laughs again, light and airy, and leans back. “ _Reluctance._ I’m sorry, we can talk about something else?”

“N-no, it’s fine.”

His shoulders feel a little looser.

“You’re sure?”

There is no weight - no expectation or risk - attached to this interaction.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She offers, with a smile.

_He likes seeing her smile._

“Yeah. Keep guessing.”

“Okay… well.” She poses, mock-thoughtfully, and then claps her hands. “I know. Do you work for some kind of athletics company? Maybe you offer private training?”

He shakes his head, holding back the upward twist of his own lips.

“No? I’m usually better at this… hm, well if it’s not sports, how about…” A fresh pose, head tilted to one side. “You’re… a… _Honey Boy_ , at the HoneyBee Inn!”

Rude almost chokes on his beer.

“Got you,” She laughs, putting a hand on his arm as he coughs into his hand. Rubbing small circles into his bicep. “Sorry. I thought it might make you laugh.” A quick squeeze to his arm, and then it is gone; before the touch lingers too long. “Anyway, I think it’s your turn with the questions? I’ve been asking a lot… when you’ve had a minute to breathe, of course.”

“Alright, then…” He isn’t good with new people; but it is infinitely easier when they are forward, like this. When they set things up for him, and break the ice. He takes her previous lead with the questions. “Where are you from?”

“Me? Right here in Midgar - I... I think we lived in Kalm until I was about five or six, but I don’t remember it… not well, anyway.” A sad little smile. He notices, even in the dim light of the bar, further obscured by his shades, but doesn’t bring it up. “My mother got a job at ShinRa, for a while - so we moved. It didn’t last long, but…”

She sighs, leans back a little in her chair - shrugging off the sadness. Rude watches it leave her, like water sliding off a metal surface. Barely there before it is gone again. “Once you’re here, well… you’re _here_. We got by.”

“Above plate?” He thinks about her hands; delicate, and dainty, yet with slight callouses resting against the stem of her glass. 

“Mmm. If you’re lucky, I’ll answer that one next time.”

“Next-?”

“It’s getting late, and I should probably head back - you were on your way home too, weren’t you?” She smiles. “But, in case you wanted to…” A quiet laugh - shy, almost - as she tucks a long strand of hair behind her ear - earring glinting in the dim light. Her other hand reaches into her purse, on the bar top, and pulls out a pen. He watches her hands as the scribbles numbers down on the napkin beneath her drink; delicate grip, a slight tremor. 

“In case you wanted to do this again-”

He wonders if she’s nervous; if her throat feels suddenly as dry as his, as he watches her phone number appear on the white tissue.

“I always have time for the guy who ran to my rescue.”

By the time he thinks to ask her if she wants him to walk her to the station, Rude realises she is already gone; too caught up at first in staring at those stark numbers, blue ink vibrant in the dim light of the bar. The bartender grins at him when he comes over to clear away Chelsea’s abandoned glass; offers him an approving thumbs-up, when he spots the napkin, and the number written upon it.

Rude pockets the napkin, before he can think better of it.

He won’t call her.

He can’t.

Not in his line of work.

He tells himself he will throw the napkin away when he gets home.

* * *

The journey back home is slow; Rude feels as if he is moving through water. Sluggish. Lost in his own thoughts. The napkin, stained with swirling ink cursive, burns a hole in his pocket, and he tells himself over and over again, that he will get rid of it, when he gets home. That he has no choice in the matter. Repeats that thought like a mantra, as he walks back from the train station - as he walks up the stairs of his apartment building. As he pushes open the door to his apartment, keys still jangling together in his grip, and watches a familiar mess of red hair pop up from behind the back of the couch- sleep mussed, half flattened on one side - as Reno blinks in the dim light from the entryway, where Rude begins to deposit his jacket, and shoes.

He repeats that thought, but his hands do not reach for the napkin, sitting in his front pocket.

“ _Yo, Partner,_ you’re back late,” Leaning his arms atop the couch-cushions in a now-familiar sight, Reno props his chin against his forearms. He isn’t wrong to point it out - Rude will always be the first to admit that he is usually such a stickler for schedules. “You run into some trouble?”

He swallows back against a sudden and unpleasant lump in his throat, as the truth bubbles somewhere in his gut.

A sudden weight.

_He can’t say it._

“Promised I wouldn’t have too much fun without you, didn’t I?” Hanging his jacket up, straight and neat on a hanger in the entryway closet, Rude straightens his tie and removes his gloves. When he glances over, he can see Reno watching his movements - that typically sly smile, ever-present on his features. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” 

“Mm.” His keys sound inordinately loud when he deposits them into their holder.

“Train runnin’ late again?” It’s an easier excuse, and so Rude just shrugs in response; not really lying, by not really answering. It seems enough for Reno, who clicks his tongue in annoyance. “You’d think with how developed the weapons ShinRa makes are, they could at least make a damn train run on time.”

“Pretty sure Reeve doesn’t get half the budget he should.” He hasn’t lied, technically.

_His mind dwells on long, shimmering brown hair, and vibrant eyes._

But somehow it still feels like he has.

“Poor sap, huh?” Sitting up properly, Reno shrugs his bare shoulders and stretches his arms out in front of him; popping muscles as he goes. “So, how was the Ancient?”

“At home, Tseng said he was going to check on her.” Rude takes off his shades and sets them on the dividing counter between the kitchen and living space. “Told me to focus on patrol above-plate.”

“He’s really stressed, still, huh?” Reno shifts over on the couch - long legs, tangled beneath the blankets Rude had left out for him earlier - pulling into a half-crossed position so that Rude can take up the space next to him if he chooses.

“Sounded like it.” He leans over the back of the couch, instead, peering down at Reno. A familiar position, from so long ago now.

A sigh - a puff of air sending the dangling strands of hair that fall over Reno’s eyes shooting upwards. Reno rubs at his collarbone for a moment; and glances towards the coffee table. When Rude follows his gaze, he sees Reno’s phone there - lit up with messages (though not an uncommon sight, a little unusual at this time of night), and watches him rub - again - absentmindedly - at the bones jutting near the base of his throat. 

“Rookie bugging you about tomorrow?”

“Nah, it’s Cissnei...” The response is somewhat stilted, compared to his normal speech, and Rude glances across at Reno with a raised brow. Cissnei is relatively new but pleasant enough; does her job well and is friendly in and outside of work - it doesn’t take him more than a moment to work out that something else is causing this.

Rude waits, knowing Reno will finish what he wants to say when he is ready to.

The phone buzzes again, and Reno glares at it, before huffing, and snatching it up from the table.

For the sake of politeness, and as he often does, Rude makes a point of looking elsewhere as Reno’s fingers tap furiously at too-abused keys. Wants to warn him that he will need a new phone, sooner rather than later, if he keeps that treatment up (but then, he has seen Reno hurl the damn thing across rooms, onto tables, and worse). 

He doesn’t say a word.

Glancing down at Reno’ bare ankle, poking out from beneath the blanket draped around his frame, Rude notices a small scar that looks quite recent. 

Another huff; catching his focus. Reno, dropping his phone heavily into his lap, leans back against the cushion behind him, and glances sidelong at Rude.

“I uh- I didn’t say - I dunno if I can hang tomorrow after me ‘n the Rookie clock out, so I might not catch you again until work on Monday.” He seems to struggle to look directly at Rude when he says this; eyes flitting between his phone, still lit up in the seat of his lap, and the blank screen of the TV, across the coffee table. “Said I’d go for drinks with that intern from Urban Planning.”

Rude swallows back his own instinctive response; a question, knowing it is not his place to ask. Reminds himself of the napkin, sitting in his own pocket, and sets his jaw.

A response won’t formulate in his mind fast enough - words catch in his throat, and Rude finds himself looking down at his shirt-cuffs - adjusting his cufflinks for something, _anything_ , to buy him some time. To let him think of anything other than a question he has no right to ask. 

It’s none of his business.

_They let that window close enough times already._

“Tried to get out of it, don’t even like the guy, but Cissnei was pushing things...”

“It’s fine.” Even Rude surprises himself, when the words leave his mouth - abrupt, and cold. Robotic as they fall from his tongue. 

_It’s not his place to ask._

He swallows past a thick-feeling in his own throat, that he pretends isn’t there. Shrugs, because everything is - surely - fine. “I’ll see you on Monday at work.”

“Yeah. We’ll go for a beer? I’ll tell you how bad it went, ‘n we can get shitfaced.” Reno grins at him, and Rude thinks that he looks as careless as ever.

He thinks of a soft smile; delicate hands. 

_‘I broke things off with that chick I was seein’’_

He thinks of a moment passing; of not allowing himself to accept what it meant.

_Thinks of how easy it is to miss opportunities that are right there._

He thinks of risks, and dangers that come with everything he does; everything _they do._

And deep down, he knows it's better for both of them, to leave that moment as it was; in the past.

“Sounds like a plan.”

_But that doesn’t mean that every window opened before him has to close._

He bids Reno goodnight, and makes his way to his room; loosens his tie for a moment, and sits on the edge of his bed.

The napkin is a little rumpled from its journey - but the numbers are clear and legible as before. It still smells a little of the perfume she was wearing.

‘Did you make it home? - R’

He tells himself to leave it at that; to put the phone away, and go to sleep. Leave it all be-

‘Yes! Thank you again, my Knight in Tailored Armour! ;) - C’

Rude huffs out a little laugh, at that - blinks when his phone buzzes again.

‘I still owe you a drink - can I buy one for you on Wednesday evening? - C’

Maybe it’s okay that he likes the sound of that.

_How long should he stare at a closed window, wondering if it will ever open again?_

Perhaps, he thinks, it is okay that some things are best left as they are. To let go of things he hasn’t been brave enough to admit that he has been holding onto.

‘Same place. I’ll be there.’

**Author's Note:**

> CCCCCCC:
> 
> Honey, you got a big storm comin'
> 
> Everything that leads up to how these two are with each other in Contact is... coming at you real fast~ I will ALSO be taking some time after the next part(s??) to UPDATE Contact, as it was originally written in late 2015, and some parts could use some reworking/I'm aware my personal-canon has been developed slightly since (I mean I didn't post the next part until 2018, so that says a LOT haha). So please keep an eye out for that, too!
> 
> Love y'all! I promise this slow-burn will eventually end...


End file.
